


I'm sorry I love you (it's a phase I'm going through)

by pomosexual



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 06:59:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pomosexual/pseuds/pomosexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma is struck with an ill-conceived love spell. Regina is irritated (and also maybe a little (a lot) turned on).</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm sorry I love you (it's a phase I'm going through)

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic I have written in about five years! I have been ~moved by the swan queen. might be a bit rusty, so all thoughts, comments, feelings, treatises, polemics, etc., are welcome. this is set in season 3, after Zelena is donezo, but no gross time travel honeymoon for Hook and Emma. title courtesy of the Magnetic Fields.

“Do you like it?” Emma asks, all bambi-eyed and bitten-lipped.

“It” would be the Nora Roberts novel that has surely puked all over Regina’s ordinarily immaculate and très modern livingroom. Scented-candles, wine, an explosion of rose petals, a spread of assorted cheeses and fruits all on a red and white checkered picnic blanket. An Al Green vinyl playing softly over her very expensive speakers, which Emma knows she is very much not allowed to touch. 

It was Green’s dulcet tones that awoke Regina several minutes earlier with a start. _Do I even own an Al Green record? What kind of thief brings their own soundtrack?_ Regina may no longer be the Evil Queen, but she stomped down the stairs fully intending to rain doom upon the imbecile unfortunate enough to break into her (formerly) mayoral mansion. 

Only to find the Savior stumbling around in the flickering candlelight.

“Do I like it? I...am utterly mystified. I have no context for anything that I am seeing. Why are you here right now? Redecorating my house and playing soul music in the middle of the night?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Emma whispers. 

“Let’s work on our listening skills, shall we? That is not an answer to my question. Why are you making my living room ugly at three o'clock in the fucking morning?” Then, blanching, “Is Henry okay? I thought he was staying with you tonight?” 

“He’s fine, he’s with my parents...” Emma says, distracted and staring at Regina, awestruck. “You’re so beautiful,” she sighs. 

“I...What?” 

Before Regina can process this bizarre proclamation, Emma shoves her unceremoniously onto the couch, and straddles her thighs. Regina opens her mouth to let loose the six or seven barbs she has immediately teed up, but Emma’s lips are covering her own before she gets the chance.

And for a moment Regina short-circuits, her hands resting on Emma’s skin-tight, black jeans, stock-still as Emma nips her bottom lip. 

But then Emma runs her ( _horrible, awful, barbaric_ ) tongue along Regina’s lips, seeking entrance, sending a shock through her system. Placing both hands on Emma’s chest, Regina pushes, hard. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Sheriff?” Regina is miffed that her tone is more bewildered than regally affronted. 

Emma looks taken aback, as if this should all be very clear to Regina. Her fingers wrap around Regina’s wrists and pin them to back of the couch. “I’m seducing you.” She says this very slowly and patiently, evidently concerned that Regina is suffering from a head injury. _Maybe I am?_

“Yes, with all the bovine grace that you possess.” 

Emma ignores her jab and begins dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses from from her collarbone to the top of her neck. 

“Ms. Swan,” she begins, her voice low and dangerous, fists balling and wrists straining against Emma’s hold. “You have either lost your mind entirely, or this is the most elaborate and misguided prank you have ever pulled. Either way, you have three seconds to remove your ogre-like body from on top of me, or we will play a game called ‘How Flammable is the Savior?’ I’m placing my money on ‘very.’”

She feels Emma smirk against her pulse (beating entirely to fast for Regina’s comfort), before whispering into her ear, “It gets me so hot when you threaten me.” 

Regina’s jaw drops, finding herself dumbfounded, and suddenly, to her great distress, very wet. As Emma nibbles on the shell of her ear and begins to unbutton Regina’s silk nightshirt, Regina’s breath hitches, rage receding into a whole different kind of throbbing. 

Somewhere, in distant and growing-more-distant part of her brain, a voice is hissing _stop allowing the foul, ill-born offspring of the absolute worst idiots to ever to walk this dimension, or the next, besmirch you!_

But said foul, ill-born, Charming-offspring is remarkably adept at finding all the spots on the column of her neck that make her pulse race. As if to prove the point, Emma stops sucking gently and bites down on tender skin where her neck meets her shoulder, forcing Regina to suppress a moan. 

_Fuck it._ Regina may not know what game Emma is playing, but she will be damned if she is going to let her win it. Breaking the blonde’s hold on her wrists, she wraps her arms around her waist and pulls Emma flush with her own body. Regina swallows the appreciative sound the Sheriff makes, kissing her furiously. She slides her tongue into the Emma’s mouth, nails digging into Emma’s (admittedly perfect) ass, and the blonde’s hips jerk forward. 

Fingers shaking with anticipation, Emma finally manages to pop the last button on Regina’s silk nightshirt and wastes no time in cupping Regina’s breast. The older woman would be rolling her eyes at Emma’s adolescent impatience if she weren’t so distracted by Emma grinding into her center. Emma undulates against her insistently, as she teases Regina's hardened peak through her bra and sucks on her lower lip. Regina tries to stifle a groan, feeling caught between a ( _simpleminded, oafish_ ) rock and hard place. She is soaking wet, and _fuckyessogood_ is on the tip of her tongue as Emma pinches her nipple, but the idea of letting Emma know that she has this kind of effect on (the artist formerly known as) the Evil Queen makes Regina want to punch a wall. She can't decide what she wants more: to shove the Savior between her legs or hurl her across the room. 

“Ms. Swan, why are you doing this?” Regina finally gasps, pulling away, as Emma's fingers begin to trail down her stomach. 

“Because I love you.” 

Ice water floods Regina’s veins, Emma's declaration sobering her immediately. 

“What?” 

Emma pulls back and gives her wide, earnest smile that would probably melt even the most hardened of hearts, but it just makes Regina want to scoff. She takes Regina’s face in her hands, and Regina squirms in horror at the intimacy of it all. 

“You’re my heart.” Emma says softly. 

“As of when, exactly?”

“Eleven - no - twelve hours ago.” She says breezily, moving back in for another kiss, but her mouth meets Regina’s palm instead. 

“Fuck.” Regina’s eyebrows furrow as she pushes Emma’s face away from her. 

“I’m trying!” Emma explains, exasperated and petulant. 

“Ms. Swan, may I remind you that it was just this afternoon you told me I was ‘Elizabeth Báthory in a pantsuit’ and that I had - what was it - ‘a soul made of trash.’ Doesn’t your ardor strike you as a tad sudden?” 

“Yeah, well I believe you initiated that interaction with, ‘Scurvy might not be a sexually transmitted disease, but syphilis is.’ Unprompted! Like, you took time out of your morning to say it to me. And in front of Henry!” 

“Knowledge is power, Sheriff. And maybe you shouldn’t be exposing my son to the influence of a syphilitic pirate.” 

“ _Our_ son. And Hook doesn’t have syphilis. Anyway - my point is, this is our thing!” Emma says, impatiently wiggling around on Regina’s lap. 

“Our thing?” Regina bats away Emma’s hand before it reaches her breast again. 

“Yeah! Our relationship is so fraught and loaded down with your baggage and my baggage and my parents baggage, and also the baggage of everyone you have maimed or killed or cursed, or otherwise magically slighted-” Off of Regina’s look, Emma hurries to say, “Anyway - we have a ton of unresolved sexual tension that we can’t act on. So I make an overture, you’re monster to me, I am horrible right back, and then we both leave turned on.” Emma explains easily, as if going over a tried and true adage. 

“I’m not...That’s - We are...We don’t have a ‘thing!’” 

Emma sighs. 

“Regina, it’s not that complicated. I. Love. You. I want to bring you breakfast in bed, and be the big spoon, and raise Henry together, and go on spontaneous romantic getaways, and slay dragons for you!" After a moment of thought, she adds, "And I want to write you fucking poetry!” 

Regina feels a headache coming on. 

“I know that odiously pedestrian declarations of love must be hardwired into your very DNA, dear, but for the sake of my mental health, please refrain.” 

“You are the first thing I think about in the morning, and the last thing on my mind before I drift off to sleep,” Emma soldiers on stubbornly. 

“It’s been eleven hours!” 

“Twelve.” Emma reminds her gently. “And I would do anything for you.” 

“Anything?” 

“If asked you jump off a very tall building?”

“I would ask you which one.” Emma whispers solemnly. 

_Tempting._ But then the image of Henry’s heartbroken and accusatory gaze flashes through her mind. Regina sighs. 

“Do you trust me, Ms. Swan?”

“Completely.” 

Regina lifts an eyebrow. 

“That settles it.” She begins unbuttoning Emma’s flannel, much to the younger woman’s delight. “There is definitely something wrong with you.” Before Emma can swoop in for another kiss, Regina thrusts her hand into Emma’s chest. 

Emma gasps as Regina gently explores her heart. She stares steadily into Regina’s eyes, her own not scared - agonized but entirely trusting. It unnerves Regina enough to give her pause, to make her momentarily forget her task. The adoration and willing vulnerability in Emma’s eyes - it makes Regina’s stomach twist pleasantly. Regina cradles the Savior’s surprisingly fragile heart as it beats steadily against the cage of her fingers, losing herself in Emma’s open gaze. 

“Regina,” Emma pleads desperately, shaking the queen out of her reverie. She breaks away from Emma’s eyes and concentrates instead on the where her hand has disappeared, carefully assessing the thudding object - and - _ah, there it is._ Two irregularities, one on either side Emma’s heart, strangely smooth and raised. Regina’s eyebrows furrow. 

She pulls away her hand, leaving Emma panting. 

“Ms. Swan, someone has interfered with your heart.” 

“I’m looking right at her.” Emma smiles goofily, still catching her breath, and Regina could not roll her eyes harder.

“Sheriff, were you deprived of oxygen for an extended period as a child? I mean that this-” She gestures between them “-is a spell.” 

“Love _can_ feel like magic, can’t it?” 

“Off.”

Emma immediately begins fumbling with her belt. 

“No, not your pants, you dolt, your body. Get your body off of mine, lest mediocrity be contagious.” 

“So it does turn you on to be mean to me?” Emma husks. 

Making a noise of disgust, Regina flicks her wrist and one puff of purple smoke later, Emma is chained comfortably but securely to the radiator.

“If you wanted to tie me up, you only had to ask,” Emma says coquettishly, without missing a beat. Regina pinches the bridge of her nose, utterly fatigued by both Emma’s pornstarish delivery and her own thrill of arousal at the words. _God, where has my self-respect slunk off to?_

“Ok, Ms. Swan, this is what is going to happen-”

“Call me Emma,”

Regina’s nostrils flare.

“Ms. Swan. It is three a.m. I have neither the patience nor the will to fix whatever colossal magical blunder you have committed tonight. I am going to bed, and I will sort this out in the morning.” 

“I can’t come with you?” Emma bites her lip, eyes giving Regina pure heat. 

“Goodnight, Ms. Swan.” Regina replies curtly, spinning on her heel and climbing the stairs. 

“My love for you isn’t a blunder! It’s true! And eternal!” 

“Don’t make me gag you too.” 

“Oh! Would you?” She calls hopefully at Regina’s retreating form.  



End file.
